


The Question

by fourfreedoms



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Post-OIF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hottest day of the year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Question

It’s 110 degrees—a record high. Brad spent most of the day at the beach where the wind off the waves cooled the air down, but he agreed to watch the Orioles game with the LT in the late afternoon so he couldn’t stay there forever. At 4 PM it’s simmering in the shade of the LT’s porch. The air is so heavy it’s hard to breathe and his skin feels too tight. He rings the doorbell, sticky and uncomfortable. The sound of the chime floats through the door.

There’s a long moment of silence and then a thump. “It’s open,” the LT calls, voice muffled.

Brad pushes the door open. It swings back into the house with a rusty squeak. He finds the LT lying on the floor in a t-shirt and exercise shorts, flushed red.

“LT?” Brad asks. It’s dark in the house. All of the blinds are drawn and none of the lights are on. There’s a fan whirring away at the backdoor. He looks at the LT's prone form and asks, “What happened?”

The LT groans and shifts. “I went for a run.”

Brad stares at him for a long moment. “I never thought you’d have the intelligence of a demented rabbit, but apparently, you learn new and fun things every day.”

The LT shuts his eyes and thunks his head against the floor. “And the air-conditioner broke on the hottest day of the year.” He pauses and then blinks. “Are rabbits particularly dumb?”

“Yes.” Brad plunks down on the floor next to the LT. “Are we watching the game?”

The LT waves a weary hand at the remote sitting on his coffee table and then drops his arm feebly back to the floor. Brad laughs and reaches out to grab it, turning the television onto the pre-game commentary. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so pathetic.”

The LT actually sticks out his tongue. Brad laughs at him. The LT smiles back and then shifts so that his shirt hitches up over his abs. Brad looks pointedly away from the trail of reddish hair disappearing into his shorts. After a moment, unsure of what to do with himself, still fighting against staring, Brad moves to the LT's sofa.

Twenty minutes later they’re into a round of boring commercials, the Orioles are in the Outfield and the White Sox are at bat. The LT still lies on the floor, but watches the screen out of the corner of his eye. There’s the hiss of automated sprinklers outside and the LT lifts his head up. Brad snorts fondly as Nate slowly picks himself up off the ground, groaning as he straightens up. The LT gives him the finger and then goes to the back door, carefully stepping around the fan.

“LT?” Brad calls as he disappears into the backyard. Brad rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. It wouldn't do to let Fick collapse from heat exhaustion on Brad's watch. He follows him out the backdoor. The LT stands in the jet of the sprinkler, face tilted up to the sky and expression blissful.

His hair falls wet and dark into his eyes and he opens them suddenly and says, “Are you just going to stand there?”

“You’re a very strange man, LT,” Brad replies.

The LT grins at him and plunges a hand into the spray, directing the water off his palm right at Brad. Brad shouts as the sudden icy spray hits him right in the face. Nate cackles, flicking wet fingers at him.

He wipes his face off slowly and says, “You’re going to pay for that one.”

The LT laughs and replies, “Bring it.” He takes off as Brad starts toward him and they run circles around the backyard, forcing Brad to leap through sprinklers just to follow, but then the LT slips on the sodden grass and Brad is upon him. He’s laughing the whole time as Brad gets him in a sleeper hold.

“You win, you win,” he cries, choked up with mirth and Brad lets him go. He falls back into the wet grass, breathing hard as the sprinklers arc over him.

The LT tugs at his t-shirt and it comes away from his skin with a sucking smack. “Much better,” the LT says and slumps back beside him. He’s still flushed under his tan, but he looks far less mournful.

“I’m surprised they let a deranged overgrown child lead men into battle, sir.”

The LT makes a sound and doesn’t answer for a long moment. When he does, he says, “You know I’m not a lieutenant anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Brad replies, sardonic twist to his mouth.

The LT flicks water into his eyes. “No, I mean, I’m a civilian now…” He’s staring at Brad with a strange light in his eyes.

Brad swallows. “Are you directing me to ask you a question, sir—Nate?”

“Yes,” Nate says, leaning in.

“Are you—”

“No, the answer to the question is yes,” Nate interrupts and bends down over him to catch his mouth in a kiss. It’s a wet, tentative press, flavored by sprinkler water, and Brad tolerates it for a second before dragging Nate down on top of him. Their mouths part and Nate breathes hard. Brad feels those breaths through his entire body.

He looks up at Nate’s face almost in awe and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s grown a fair bit since Godfather was forcing them to cut their hair every day in Iraq. Nate’s eyes slide shut and Brad leans up and brings their mouths back together again. This is not how he imagined it. He never thought in a million years that there would be room for tenderness between them, but Nate’s mouth is gentle on his. His tongue swipes over Brad’s lower lip and when Brad moans he does it again and again.

Suddenly Nate jerks himself away. “The game!” he cries and scrambles to his feet.

“Seriously?” Brad replies, still sprawled out in the grass.

Nate looks down at him and smirks. “If the Orioles win, I’ll blow you.”

Brad breathes deep. “Oh, right. The game. That I find myself suddenly caring about.”


End file.
